


Be Careful of the Stair—The Why Nate Hated That Spiral Staircase Job

by crayonbreakygal



Category: Leverage
Genre: Drama, F/M, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 22:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: “They’re your domain, your throne, darling.” He wasn’t some damn king, sitting on his throne.  He removed himself from the others by his own choosing.





	Be Careful of the Stair—The Why Nate Hated That Spiral Staircase Job

**Author's Note:**

> Those spiral stairs in seasons two through four were used as props many times on the show. What could be their significance? They often provided a separation from the rest of the group if a character sat on them. That character was usually Nate, although I cannot remember if any of the others used them. I'm just speculating that Hardison had them installed to connect the first floor of the apartment with the second, custom built because finding a set that fit wouldn't have worked. Enjoy!

Be Careful of the Stair—The Why Nate Hated That Spiral Staircase Job

Takes place during season two and onward.

 

Why would someone install a spiral staircase in the middle of an apartment? And why would someone rent an apartment that had these stairs, particularly if the apartment was above a bar?

Nate kept asking himself those questions.  Sure, it was above McRory’s, where he practically grew up. The neighborhood was not as nice back then, a little sketchy, but he never worried as he ran the streets way back when with his friends.  They were used to the drug deals, the prostitution, the guy who sat on the sidewalk with his cards trying to hustle a buck or two.  They were used to it, sidestepped it. They were kids.  Kids back then mostly had no fear.

Stumbling up those stairs after being hit on the head with that cookie sheet, he wondered that if he were still a drunk, would he be able to navigate them?  Turn, turn, turn, holding onto the railing as he turned until he reached the top.  Would his foot slip? Would he tumble down, breaking a leg or even something worse, like his head? It sounded like a metaphor for his life.  He had been turning, turning, trying to find solace, whether it be religion, a job, a drink or a woman. Nothing had worked.  He kept tumbling with nothing to stop his fall.

Nate had once been in these apartments, long before they had been renovated.  The rooms back then were small, cramped with not much light.  Dingy and old came to mind. Many of the windows were nailed shut.  A few of them you could not see into or out of, possibly because of the tenants covering them with whatever they could find to keep the inside warm during the cold months.  The one floor of his apartment could have possibly been two apartments at one point. He couldn’t exactly remember because it was so long ago.  Many people would be stuffed into a one bedroom, usually a family of four or more. One bedroom, one bathroom, a tiny kitchen, maybe a window in the living area with a fire escape. 

Nate considered himself lucky that his family had a two bedroom, although his bedroom was tiny, with only enough room with a bed and dresser.  His mother kept it immaculate, her little chochkies dotting every surface. They were usually religious in origin, but the two most special ones were not.  One was a tiny porcelain baby.  The other a woman dancing, skirts flowing behind her.  She let it slip one day that she loved to dance before she met his father.  He often wondered what her life was like before Jimmy had come along.  Was she a carefree girl with stars in her eyes? Did she want to keep going with her schooling?  She seemed to know more than Jimmy when it came to education.  Religion was a big part of her life. Did she want to become a nun? She never mentioned any of this. Once she’d told Nate not to dwell on the past, that it did not do anyone any good to keep looking back. 

Nate tended to always look back in time.  Maybe that was why he always missed that stair.  He’d trip on the second stair. Not the first one because he always knew it was there. It was the second one. He’d be concentrating so hard on the first, the second would surprise him. No one else had those issues.  Of course, except for those few months he was sober, he was usually drunk when he ascended those stairs.  Up to his lonely existence, the room above cold and solitary.  All the action took place downstairs. Hardison had his fingers in everything that happened downstairs.  All his equipment and his orange soda crowded the downstairs space.  All the food that was in his refrigerator was thanks to Eliot, who usually cooked for the team, but often grabbed things for Nate to eat when they weren’t around.  Parker usually appeared when he least expected it, which was mostly when he didn’t want her around.  Hangovers were hell to deal with when Parker appeared directly in front of Nate, chomping on dry cereal. Sophie’s perfume permeated the air when she was in residence. It wasn’t pungent. It was just there, uniquely hers. And if it wasn’t the perfume, it was her variety of teas she had stored in one of the cabinets, delicate teacups gently washed and put away after use.

Those stairs were his barrier and his place of solitude. It was where he went when he wanted to separate himself from the others, whether it be to abandon ship, lick his wounds when he was wrong, or to place himself away from the team, but still be downstairs.  Sitting on those stairs gave him an out. Would he go up and leave them be or come back down and spar with whoever was put out by him?

Why had someone put in a spiral staircase instead of a traditional one?  Hardison probably thought it looked cool. Or it was cheaper.  Nate found out from Cora that it was Hardison who combined the two apartments into one even before he moved in.  Hardison must have been tracking him. 

Cora was just a wealth of information when asked. He knew exactly how much time they all spent in his place when he was in prison. Sophie lived there for a time, Eliot cooked all their meals, Hardison barely left the first month, and Parker disappeared for weeks at a time only to reappear as if she’d never left.

Going up those stairs right after he’d been released from prison was like coming home.  His room had been left as it was, although everything had been laundered, ready for his use.  A few things were missing (he’d have to ask Parker about that), but mostly everything was intact.  He had gripped that railing tightly, realizing that he should have never made it back in the first place.  He should have died from that gunshot wound.  He should have stayed in that prison much longer.  He should have moved from the apartment to get away from the other four. He should have disappeared right after Los Angeles. Instead, he made his way to Boston after rehab.  That was his first mistake to add onto many others he had made over the years.  Those stairs indeed symbolized a lot more than just the metaphor of his life.

As he watched Sterling saunter down them, giving him the choice of either giving up his team or giving himself up, Nate knew his choice before Sterling had spoken. The man had been in his personal space, pawing through his things. Maybe he should ask Sterling what he took instead of Parker. 

He set himself apart once the others had shown up when he said the coast was clear. They should have known, should have realized when he wouldn’t join them to plan what they were going to do with Kadjic.  Those stairs were his barrier.

He slowly made his way up those stairs, weary that a job well done was taking tiny pieces of his heart, slowly eating away at his very soul. The times when he stumbled upon them or sometimes down them, having too much to drink made him realize that he did have a death wish.  That second step was his nemesis. 

It must have been the hundredth time he tripped up the step when he heard behind him, “Careful of the second step,” Sophie would call out to him.  She must have been watching him, possibly studying him.

She’d taken to saying that every time she was in his apartment and he headed upstairs.  At first, he’d still trip, stumble a bit, especially when he was drunk.  Over time though, his foot was steadier. That step wasn’t as much of a struggle. She didn’t even have to look his way.

When she wasn’t around, especially that second year the team was together, he’d trip over the damn thing almost every single time. Once she returned, she continued her warning.  His feet were a bit steadier.

Hardison redesigning the office while he was incarcerated gave them even less space to sit.  It was the desk before the screens, the dining room table, or his work desk.  It was all done to fit the needs of five instead of one.  That second stair became his go-to place if he needed to think but still needed to be a part of the chaos of the other four.  Be a part but not an integral part. If he sat at the dining table, then he was a part of the group, the head of the group.  If he sat at his desk, then the others could ask for advice or as Parker would do, sit directly on his desk to ask him a question.  If he sat or stood at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, then the others would take that as a sign that he wanted company even if he didn’t.

The stairs seemed to be off-limits, even to Parker who loved to climb just about anything.  Even Sophie approached him carefully when he sat on that stair, although she still told him as he walked up them to be careful on that stair as usual. That all changed one fateful night when he invited her to dinner.  Then that stair took on a significance that the others should not find out about ever. Nate would never look at those stairs again the way he would previously:  Sophie in all her glory, standing below him on the floor, just low enough so that her eyes and a few other things were on level with his eyes. As he spread his legs to invite her in, she sighed in relief and maybe it was a bit of lust too.

“Careful of the stairs,” Sophie moaned.

“Thought you liked the stairs.”

“They’re your domain, your throne, darling.”

So that’s what the others thought of him? He wasn’t some damn king, sitting on his throne.  He removed himself from the others by his own choosing.  Just like his father had been on that damn stool downstairs as he held court to the neighborhood. 

“Tell you what. Why don’t we, well, you know?”

“You can’t do it if you can’t say it,” Sophie joked as she pulled his blue shirt off him.

“I like a challenge.”

“I bet.”

The stairs did provide a challenge. In the end, it was well worth it. Sophie was very inventive. 

It was only when her bra ended up on the railing to the stairs that Nate realized that his personal life was now interfering in the realm of other parts of his life.  The team kept to the downstairs mostly.  Slowly, every so slowly, they all crept up the stairs, with, of course, Sophie first.

Sure, they all probably came up the stairs while he was in prison.  But that had stopped. Or so he thought.

Parker kept up her ways of stealing things. She’d give whatever she stole back eventually. It became a game for her.  He’d say something about a hat or sunglasses going missing.  She’d nod her head, looking all innocent. He knew better.  A few days later, said item would be put back exactly where it belonged, no questions asked.

Several times Hardison invaded his space, but only with permission.  All he did was mumble as he searched for bugs throughout the apartment after they came down from that mountain adventure.  What Hardison didn’t realize was the fact that his mumbling was clear as day. Something about him not being “all up in Nate’s business” but it had to be done.  It wasn’t like Nate had anything to hide. Mostly.

Eliot was the one that was the most respectful of Nate’s personal space unless he was carrying Nate’s sorry ass up the stairs after he drank himself into oblivion.  It came in waves.  Right after Sophie left and he started to drink again, there were a few times that Nate needed the help so he wouldn’t trip and hurt himself.  Eliot never stayed.  He would unceremoniously drop Nate on the bed, put a water bottle down on the bedside table, and silently slip out unnoticed. Of course, Nate wouldn’t notice him leave. He was more than three sheets to the wind on those occasions.  Nate could count about a dozen times he needed to be deposited, shoved or carried to his room, to pass out until the sun came up.  It usually happened on days of danger, like anniversaries or holidays. Those sucked.

Sophie was not ever respectful of his personal space.  She invaded it constantly, whether it was because she needed something concrete from him like an article of clothing or wanted to run something by him for a job. Like it couldn’t wait?  He often hesitated to change clothes because she would barge in no matter in what state of undress he was. It was mighty embarrassing to be standing there practically naked as she ranted about what Eliot had done on the last job.  There were better fantasies to have with Sophie standing in his room, clothing thrown across on the floor. He’d never make that joke because she had skills, skills to make him pay. Plus, it was tacky to point it out.

“Are you done?” he’d point out as he stood in the middle of the room only in his shirt and underwear.

“Completely threw me off.  Me. When have you ever seen me sputter? I swear if he does that again.”

Nate rolled his eyes.  “Could you give me a minute?”

That was when Sophie finally realized that he was indeed in his own personal space and she had invaded it without even wondering why he was almost undressed. 

“Oh.”

And that was only the first year they were working together in Boston. 

“This shirt would look better. Don’t you think?”

Nate had been taking a shower, trying to clear the cobwebs out of his mind so that he could get down to work.  He hadn’t heard Sophie come into the room.  The towel almost slipped as he startled at her presence.

“Sophie. What?”

“You need to look the part.”

“I know how to pick out my own clothes.”

“But it’s always black on black. Don’t you have any other colors in your wardrobe?”

“I do,” he pointed out.

“I’m not talking about those loud suits you wear on cons.”

“Black matches everything.”

Sophie pawed through his things until she found what she was looking for.

“Black shirt, black shirt, another black shirt. Grey shirt. White shirt. Black jacket. Grey suit. Oh dear. The organization of his closet is horrible. How do you find anything in here?”

Sophie handed him a white shirt with a blue tie.

“I manage. Now out.”

Sophie smirked a little when she saw the state of undress in which she found him.

“I’ll just be downstairs.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful of the stair,” she shouted from the hallway.

If that stair didn’t kill him, she most certainly would.

They went on and on with their banter until coming back from San Lorenzo, her coming up those stairs holding much more significance. She started to become a larger part of his private domain.  A pair of earrings on the dresser appeared one day.  An extra toothbrush. Feminine things in his bathroom.  A dress or two hanging in his closet. His clothes organized (when had she done that?).  A drawer, then two reserved for her needs. It all slowly came about that he didn’t notice until one day he saw a small bottle of perfume sitting on her side of the bed.

The other three practically lived downstairs now, eating most of their meals together.  He and Sophie either were in his space or sometimes went to her place to get away from the other three.  As he twirled the small bottle in his hands, he wondered how he’d gotten to this place in his life.

When he had first moved in, he thought it would be him rambling around in that large space downstairs, book in hand, music playing low. He’d have space to think and breathe.  It would have bored him to tears within a week’s time. Looking back, he was glad that they had invaded his space and home, that second stair be damned.

This space had given him his family, had made him realize that he needed them to be around all the time, if not just for the job, but for himself.  They gave him a sense of purpose, a sense of self he never could have gained without their love and trust in him.  It all could come crashing down tomorrow and it almost had come crashing down on several occasions.  Maybe having them in his space wasn’t so bad after all.

“Thinking deep thoughts?” came the voice behind him.

“You have a drawer,” was all he could think to say.

“I have several. A girl needs her space. I do believe you have a drawer at my place.”

“I do?”

When had that happened?  Sophie planned better than he did.

“Putting a pair of your underwear in your coat pocket wouldn’t look all that great. Ruins the lines of your jacket.”

Nate patted his jacket pocket, coming up with a scrap of fabric he wasn’t expecting. Pulling it out, he tossed it to Sophie.

“Found these in my laundry. I was going to give them back. I swear.”

Before, when he and Sophie were not “seeing” each other, she’d come into the apartment dressed to kill. Now that she was more comfortable around him, she came into the office more relaxed. That didn’t mean she was a slouch.  Sophie Devereaux always dressed to impress.  She had already slipped out of her shoes though. Her jeans accentuated her figure. Even her tossed hair seemed to be perfect in every way.

“You’re staring.”

“I’m thinking. Remember?”

“Don’t think too hard.”

The perfume bottle was forgotten along with why he was brooding in the first place.  Sure, they still had their fights, their banter. Living in this place was home, no matter where the outside forces were pulling them.

It all came crashing down weeks later. Their space had been invaded for the last time. Packing up that last box of things, Nate wondered if they were ever going to find somewhere that all five would be able to congregate in ever again.  His life was now shattered, his father now dead because of his missteps. 

Now empty of everything that had been owned and collected over the last few years, the only thing Nate left was the ship that he built with his own two hands. It would seem odd to Dubenich when he showed up looking for them.  He probably wouldn’t understand the significance of it.

“You will not touch what I build ever again,” Nate whispered to himself as he watched Dubenich and his goons search the apartment in bewilderment.

He heard Hardison laugh behind him as Dubenich tripped on that damn stair.

“Did I ever tell you why you trip on that stair?”

Nate was really not in the mood for Hardison’s stories.

“The guy who I had build those stairs messed up the measurements on that one stair. I even checked it. It was off by just a fraction of an inch. I couldn’t let you know that I was the one that put the staircase in because getting it fixed would have delayed you moving in.  Better to leave you in the dark.”

“So, you knew exactly where I was and what I was doing?”

“Of course, my man.  I am all seeing, most of the time at least. You never know. Sophie’s idea, by the way.”

Nate growled a little, knowing that Sophie had already been in Boston for a few months before he arrived.  How had they all figured out where he would end up?

“You’re a creature of habit, Nate. Remember, we know you,” Eliot said as he rolled out plans of those water treatment facilities on a table.

And he knew them. Only he didn’t know them after that first year. He knew how they worked, how they operated, how they worked together. But he didn’t know them personally. Now he did. And he wouldn’t let them go down for what he was planning on doing.

“You are not a murderer, Nate,” Sophie whispered in his ear as he looked over the plans yet again.

“He killed my father,” he answered back.

Yes, Dubenich had his father killed but had also destroyed everything he had worked for in Boston. They would have to start over somewhere else. That somewhere wouldn’t have a stair that was measured incorrectly. It wouldn’t have a personal space just for him. It wouldn’t have a refrigerator full of orange soda or fruits and vegetables on days that Eliot shopped. It wouldn’t be full of monitors that were on all day and all night, particularly when Hardison was either researching for the next case or playing one of those all-night games he sometimes got involved in. It wouldn’t have boxes and boxes of sugary cereal that were consumed at an astronomical rate, immediately replaced with even more sugary ones before his eyes. It wouldn’t have unmentionables hanging in his bathroom that had been washed out by hand because Sophie hated how he did laundry.  It wouldn’t have his pillow or his sheets smell where the perfume that Sophie wore lingered for days even after being washed.  It wouldn’t have the touches of home that each of them had added to the mix when he wasn’t looking. A book here, a lock pick there.

As he walked away that last time, gunshot hurting his shoulder, he knew that this was going to be a difficult change for all of them.  No bat cave for Hardison, no bat signal for Eliot.  The five of them would have to create a new normal in a new place. A time to start over, just like what happened when they had all found each other in Boston.

Six months later, an ocean behind him, Nate wondered how they would put the pieces back together.  Hardison had worked his magic yet again, going on Nate’s instructions of “find a place in Portland” for the offices, trusting that the younger man could pull magic out of a hat like he had two times previously. And he did, only now Hardison and Parker lived on the second floor, with Eliot close by somewhere. Nate didn’t ask about that.

Sophie had taken care of finding a place for just the two of them, with space for him to brood when necessary. The three were no longer underfoot as they were in Boston.  Nate missed that until while looking around the place, he decided to go upstairs. That second stair tripped him up.

“Careful on the stairs,” came the shout from the kitchen.

Nate started to laugh, realizing the significance, that the joke was on him. Maybe Portland wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 


End file.
